Page 18 of Misadventures with a Duke

Not me.

Really not me.

How do I tell him that?

Correction: how do I tell him that, when his mouth is like tendrils of fire along my neck, across my collarbone…down and over the peak of one breast? Oh, holy shit, and now the other?

And then…as he flicks his tongue into the space between the corset and my flesh…and snags my nipple with that hot, wet brand…

“Unhhh!”

Wow.

Wow.

Triple wow.

At this point, I’ll even take help from the other side of the River Styx. I just need words. Lots of them.

“Ohhh, dear fuck!”

Better words than that.

“Well. You remember liking that, oui?” he drawls, gliding his licks across the valley toward my other aching peak.

Already my nipple pushes at the corset’s confines, all but whimpering for his wanton attention. But I struggle to yank back. I can’t keep doing this to him. Deceiving him.

No matter how much I like it.

“Wait,” I insist, pulling at his hair until he raises his head. How have I already forgotten the mesmerizing alloy of his eyes? They’re a darker gold than his brother’s. Better. So much better. “Please. We need to…take a time out.”

He hauls the rest of the air out of my throat with his slow, sideways smile. “What is this ‘time’ that you speak of, ma chérie?”

I huff. “You know what I mean.”

“No.” He’s damn determined about it, turning him into the duke with the hands—and voice and smile and hip rolls—I can barely deny anymore. “I have absolutely no idea what you mean. We have left time behind, remember? Every day, every hour, every moment before this…it does not matter.” He enforces that with a dip of his head, kissing me tenderly but deeply. “There is only this, my Magique. Only here and now. There is only me…marveling at the sheer perfection of you.”

My Magique.

Shit, shit, shit.

The adoration in his whisper unravels me—in too many directions at too many speeds. I’m headed for disaster, a catastrophic collision, but I’m almost watching in glee as it happens. My mind doesn’t feel attached to my body, which tremors in delight from his knowing, skating fingers. During every moment of the contact, I’m mewling like a dazed and stupid virgin. At the very least, like someone who wasn’t quivering like this just a few weeks ago. All right, probably because I wasn’t. Things with Justin…they were sideways before they went upside-down. So many signs were on the proverbial wall, especially when he begged out of Christmas with my family. I just kept refusing to look.

I never want to look away from this dazzling man. From every damn thing he’s doing to fray me from the inside out.

He’s already started anew, ignoring my sharp yelp as he expertly unties the corset. Next, before the thing even hits my feet, sliding his commanding fingers between the fabric of my panties and the swell of my ass. Last but absolutely not least, blending his growl to my hiss as the silk thong whispers through its own descent.

“Oh…my.”

“Oh…oui.” His hum, so satisfied and so male, dances through the inches between us. “My exquisite Magique.”

My Magique.

Damn it, why won’t he stop saying it?

Perhaps because that’s who I’m supposed to be? The woman he clearly, adamantly craves—with intensity that has my whole body vibrating and my mind racing.

How would it feel…to really be her? To be drenched in the flood of his praise? To be basking in his worship and wonder? To be watching his gaze drop and center on that spot between my breasts, giving a look of nothing but awe in return?